The Boy I Hate

by Taylor Sullivan

  She began to pant. She wanted him so bad she couldn’t even think. She wanted him so bad it was hard to breathe.

  His fingers plunged inside her. Again and again, curling, rubbing, stretching her. His head then dipped down, and suddenly his mouth joined his fingers.

  She couldn’t handle any more. She couldn’t take one more second of this sweet, sexy, titillating torture. She closed her eyes, clenching the sheets in her fists. His mouth was warm and soft, his breath cool, his groans heavy.

  He began to kiss her. Really kiss her. His tongue plunging in and out, his whiskers abrasive against her inner thighs. Every inch of her body screamed for release. All her senses were stimulated at once. She felt her body involuntarily tighten, tense, and she knew she was about to release. She grabbed hold of his hair and tried to pull him higher so she could take him with her. He wouldn’t budge. He only pinned her hands to her sides as he counted his slow torture.

  He kissed her, sucked her, ravaged her, until she was a quivering mound beneath him.

  “Tristan,” she begged, even though she didn’t exactly know what she was asking for. “Tristan.” His fingers kept plunging, his thumb stroking, but he lifted his head slightly, his eyes hungry on hers. “Let go, Samantha. Don’t fight this.”

  She shook her head, her pulse beating a thousand beats. “Tristan,” she called out again.

  “I got you,” he demanded.

  Her body instantly shuddered, giving in to his will. Her head fell back to the pillow, and her core clenched and pulsed all around his fingers. Her whole frame melted into the mattress, like butter under the sun. His body settled upon hers, heavy and solid, and she kissed his head, holding him firm to her breast.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” she asked, but then thought better of the question. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

  He laughed on top of her, kissed her nipple, her collarbone, up to her lips where she could taste herself on his tongue.

  She was his. Wherever he wanted to go, whatever he wanted to do, she was at his mercy. She was his, and she was a fool to ever think otherwise.

  His phone began to vibrate in his pocket between them, causing reality to crash down upon them all at once. He closed his eyes, cringing as the phone buzzed yet again. He rolled off her to the side of the bed. “I’m sorry,” he said, forcing himself to sit on the edge of the bed. “I need to get this.”

  She pushed herself from the mattress and nodded. She couldn’t see his face, but the tension in his back told her all she needed to know. It was the same person from earlier. Possibly the same person who couldn’t live without him.

  She got off the bed, took his shirt from the floor, and dragged it over her head.

  “Hello,” she heard him say, just as she closed the bathroom door behind her.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. To her long blond hair that framed her now flushed cheeks. To Tristan’s too large t-shirt that covered her trembling body. To her eyes that pleaded with her, telling her not to admit that she was lost. But she was. Somewhere along the way she had fallen, sometimes kicking and screaming, but there was no denying it any longer. She had fallen in love with Tristan Montgomery.

  It was bitter realization, and one she was reluctant to make, but she was fooling herself to think this could be only a fling. This was real, heavy, and bigger than anything she’d ever felt before. And it would shatter her soul before it was over.

  Still hearing his voice through the door, she pulled the t-shirt over her head, and then turned on the water to mute out the sound. To not listen to the man she was falling in love with talking to another woman.

  The water was hard and warm when she stepped into the shower. She let the stream beat down on her, hoping the feeling would offer some sort of distraction. The water warmed her, comforted her, but could never wash away the kisses he ferociously left behind.

  The door to the bathroom opened a moment later, and soon Tristan was standing behind her. His body pressed against hers, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer again. She told herself not to ask, to enjoy the rest of the evening, and the body that was only hers on loan, but she couldn’t. She needed to know, she needed answers.

  Turning to face him, she rested her hands on his bare chest as looked up into his eyes. She couldn’t let herself fall and not try to stop it when she knew all that waited for her was thorns. “Who was that?” she asked.

  He looked into her eyes, pleading for her not to ask the question.

  “Who was that?” she asked again. She asked for the sixteen-year-old girl who was too insecure to call him out on his behavior. For the girl who wasn’t strong enough to resist a six-year long relationship, even though she knew it wasn’t what she wanted.

  He cleared his throat and looked over her head to grab a bottle of soap. “It was my mom.”

  She ripped the curtain open, not able to bear his lies, and got out of the shower. She yanked a towel from the rack and wrapped it around her body. “Don’t lie to me.”

  Her world was crashing in all around her, the walls, the ceiling. He followed after her, grabbed hold of her arms, and forced her to look up at him. “I don’t lie.”

  That was the second time he’d said that to her, and her legs began to shake beneath her. “Is that who can’t live without you?” The words were angry, unbelieving, and held all the insecurities that were overflowing from her very core.

  She was outing herself. Making him completely aware of what she’d done, and the expression on his face shifted in an instant. He ripped a towel from the wall, wrapped it around his waist, and went to the bedroom. “Exactly.”

  She closed her eyes, not able to open them until the bathroom door closed behind him, leaving her alone, wrapped in guilt, hurt, and trembling like a leaf.

  She opened the door again and followed after him, not sure if it was the look on his face or the sound of his voice that made her believe him, but she did. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, and his back hunched over as though he was in pain.

  Her chin began to tremble, but she walked toward him, pressing his head into her belly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what makes me become so insecure around you. I’m so sorry. It’s none of my business—”

  He looked up then, cutting her off and making her throat instantly tighten. “My father’s having an affair. Renee doesn’t have a clue, so that’s why I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want to put you in a position to have to lie to her, but please don’t tell her.” His voice was hoarse and shredded, as if he was confessing something that brought him great misery.

  She pulled in a breath, trying to get hold of her emotions, because she couldn’t bear seeing him like this. Suddenly she understood him. Understood the man who behaved as though he held the world on his shoulders. Because he did. His family’s world. His sister’s world. The people he loved.

  She dropped to her knees in front of him and pulled him to her chest. He grabbed hold of her, wrapping his thick arms around her, hugging her, burying his head in her hair like he was desperate to be close to her.

  “It was on a Thursday, right after I got off work. I saw him with my own eyes.” He quieted for a moment, as though trying to pull himself together. “The bastard actually tried to tell me it was nothing.”

  She gripped him tighter and kissed the top of his head, urging him to continue.

  “He’s having an affair with a thirty-year old woman who was supposed to be his secretary. He’s been lying to us for a long time. Mom and Dad have stopped talking, so I’m trying to juggle all communication. They’re going to try and play nice for Renee, until the wedding is over, but Mom’s a fucking mess.” The words rushed out of him, as though he’d been carrying the burden for far too long. “I’ve never seen her like this.” His voice shredding and she pushed his hair repeatedly back from his face.

  Her heart was breaking. Not only for him, but for all of them. Because the Montgomerys were solid
. Always together. Always strong. “Renee doesn’t know any of this?” she asked quietly.

  “No.”

  She swallowed hard, knowing this wasn’t a good idea. “She’s going to know the second she sees them. She’ll sense it.”

  He only shook his head, gripping the base of his skull between thumb and forefinger. “That’s what I keep telling Mom, but she’s stubborn. She thinks they’ll be fine. I’m just waiting for everything to fall apart.”

  He then looked to her face, searching her eyes. For what she wasn’t sure, but the vulnerability she witnessed made her want to give him everything. A moment later he stood, lifting her up from the floor and into his arms. He sat with her again in the chair beside the bed, gently rocking her. “Don’t ever lie to me, Samantha,” he whispered. “Promise me.”

  There was something so heartbreaking about him. So sad. Because she could almost see the little boy who lived inside him. The boy who was sorrowful to learn that his father wasn’t the man he’d always idolized. That he’d cheated on Tristan’s mother. Cheated on their family. “I promise,” Samantha whispered back.

  There were tears in her eyes, threatening to spill over. He grabbed her face, his fingers wrapping around her neck. He looked like he wanted to say something. To do something, but he wasn’t sure what. She searched his eyes, silently asking him what he needed, because in that moment, she would do anything.

  He finally settled his mouth upon hers, hard, rough, and crushing, as though he needed her body to pull him back from his grief. From the sadness inside that was too hard for him to bear. She kissed him, giving him everything she had. All her hope, all her strength, all her love.

  He made love to her again, this time with his whole body. He kissed every inch of her, spilled his seed inside her belly, until his entire weight collapsed on top of her. Heavy, strong, beautiful. She wrapped her arms around him and took all of it. Because something between them had shifted. He’d shared a part of himself that he’d never shared with anyone else. He’d shared his secret, his burden, and she grabbed hold of it knowing she’d never let it go.

  They fell asleep a moment later, tangled in each other’s arms. Exhausted. Wasted. And everything between them forever altered.

  22

  Chapter Twenty-two

  It was still dark when she opened her eyes again. The bed was cold beside her, and she instantly knew something was wrong. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she found Tristan sitting on the edge of the bed, looking off into the distance. She instinctively reached out to him, and he turned around.

  He looked tired, thoughtful. “Did I wake you?” he whispered.

  She pushed herself up on her elbows, yawning “What time is it?”

  “Four in the morning,” he replied. “Go back to sleep.”

  But there was something in his voice that frightened her. Something soft, uncertain, that told her what he said wasn’t at all what he wanted. “Is something wrong?” she asked softly, sitting forward to gently rub his back.

  “Nah,” he whispered. He hesitated, only a second, but it was long enough. It was as though he had made up his mind about something. He turned around to face her, laying his knee up on the mattress to get comfortable. His face was partially covered by shadow, and he cleared his throat before he began. “I’m going to ask you a question,” he said seriously, “and I want you to be completely honest with me.”

  Her breath caught in her throat and she froze, because she didn’t have the faintest idea what had brought this on. What had made him wake so late at night and look so heavy. She nodded though, because the tone of his voice told her it was important. Because the tone of his voice told her that how she answered meant a whole lot to him.

  “How have I ever made you look like a fool?” he asked then. He wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t emotional, but there was something in his voice that was somewhere in between.

  She pulled in a breath, then looked down to her hands and shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He turned completely around, his face now illuminated by the moonlight coming in from the window. “You said it in the car. On the side of the road. You said not to make you look like a fool again. What did you mean?”

  She hesitated, but he grabbed hold of her hands, forcing her to look up at him before letting go. “If we’re going to do this, I don’t want anything between us.”

  Her throat was so tight she could barely swallow, but she knew he was right. She had to talk to him, to get everything out in the open. Because if their past wasn’t put out there, they had no shot at a future.

  She met his eyes, forcing herself to look at him even though it terrified her. “After the cabin,” she said, playing with the edge of the sheet between her fingers, suddenly feeling all the emotions of a broken sixteen-year-old girl come crashing to her shoulders. “I saw you with a girl at the pool table. I thought you saw me, but—”

  He suddenly closed his eyes, then made a noise, deep in the back of his throat, cutting her off. His head fell back to his shoulders, and he made a sound that could have been a laugh, or a cough. “That,” he whispered. “That.” But this time it was with a hint of amusement. He was quiet a moment, then he lifted his head to look at her, his blue eyes brilliant even in the faint light of night, as he stared straight into her soul. “I’m a jealous man, Samantha,” he finally stated, as though that simple sentence was all that was needed.

  She reached for his face, trying to understand what he meant, but he continued.

  “I wanted to make you jealous too.”

  She shook her head, not comprehending why he would do that, but then she replayed the night over in her head and she remembered. She covered her mouth with a hand and her throat went dry. “You saw Steven kiss me, didn’t you?” He didn’t respond, but the look in his eye told her that was exactly what happened. “Oh, my God.”

  “Samantha…” But he said it in a way that dismissed their past. He said it in a way that said it didn’t matter.

  But it did. “When he kissed me, I was shocked, but I let it happen. Partially because I was young and didn’t know how to push him away. He was my friend. One of my best friends, and I didn’t want to hurt him. And partially because I wanted to know if kissing him felt even half as good as it felt kissing you. It didn’t. It never did—”

  He grabbed hold of her face, his eyes penetrating hers, his lips millimeters away. “If he didn’t kiss you like I did, if you didn’t feel with him the way you did with me, why were you still with him when I came back to visit? Why were you still with him six years later?”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, because he was asking the hard questions. Asking the questions she’d asked a thousand times but never let herself answer.

  “I don’t know…”

  He shook his head, as though saying her answer wasn’t good enough.

  “Because…” she continued. “He was my friend! And I didn’t want to hurt him. He was my friend, everything was easy, comfortable, and I didn’t want our relationship to fail. To fail at one more damned thing…” Her words trailed off, and she looked up at him through tear-laced lashes. “It wasn’t until you came back into my life that I realized all I was missing…”

  He cupped the side of her face, sending her pulse racing.

  “I never thought I could have more. That there was more. Because I’m so scared, Tristan, so scared out of my mind of failing, that I haven’t let myself live.” The words came choking out of her, as if they were clawing up her throat, needing her to confess them. Ragged, with torn up edges, coming from deep within her soul.

  Her chin began to quiver, and he pulled her into his lap, hugging her so hard it almost crushed her. He held her so tightly, it was as if there was no end to him or beginning of her. “You deserve everything.”

  It wasn’t until he said those words that she realized that’s what it was. That she’d convinced herself that her relationship with Steven was enough. That what she had with h
im was love. That she’d convinced herself she wasn’t capable of more. Wasn’t worthy of more.

  Tristan’s voice was harsh, almost jagged, as he whispered forcefully in her ear. “You deserve everything. Do you hear me?”

  She nodded, crying in his arms, sobbing so hard, because for some reason, for the first time in her life, she believed it. She deserved a deep-seated love. The soul crushing kind she always dreamed about. And she deserved friendship at the same time, because she was worthy of all of it. He climbed with her back into bed a while later, where he held her in his arms, stroking her back softly with his fingertips. Eventually she fell asleep, for the first time in her adult life, feeling whole.

  23

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The next afternoon, Samantha turned toward the window of the Mustang, letting the warm breeze blow over her hair and face. Last night had been an emotional roller coaster. Between finding out about Renee’s parents, and Tristan holding her in bed all night, her body, mind, and soul were completely spent.

  Feelings she didn’t even know existed were ripped off her, like layers shed from an onion—things she’d buried so deep she didn’t even know they existed. Yet somehow, Tristan knew they were there—and somehow, she didn’t want to hide them from him any longer.

  It was an odd feeling, because in the past any shortcoming would be brushed under the table. She didn’t like others to see her flaws, her failures, her fears—yet it didn’t seem as scary sharing them with Tristan. Maybe because he wasn’t one to strive for perfection. Or maybe because the way he looked at her made her feel like all her imperfections were what he liked most about her.

  They’d enjoyed the morning lounging in bed, making love, and eating breakfast brought to them on silver platters: pancakes, fruit, and lots of sticky syrup that she thoroughly enjoyed licking from his fingers.